Story:Tempus Frangit/Chapter 4
“Nice new group,” 8 noted. “What’s got you so cheerful?” “I like books.” “I didn’t realise there were things you liked.” Iocus shrugged dismissively. “This floor doesn’t have the interesting books, anyway. Let’s head up.” He followed Iocus up to the second level. The books here looked no different – still bound in coloured leather, many filigreed with gilt. He wandered over to a nearby shelf and began to pick a few at random: a history of a place called “Ithil”, a dissection on the alchemical and physiological components of “Drakenaer”, a treatise on various native magicks. He was deciding between two textbooks of anatomy when Iocus hollered down from the base of the staircase. “This floor’s useless as well. All it has is books on Ithil – from impossible perspectives, which is an interesting curiosity, but nothing more,” Iocus explained as they walked up the staircase. “Ithil being the world of this library, I imagine.” “Correct, and a thoroughly uninteresting one. The next floor is a little better. It has books from-” He froze in the middle of a step. A young woman dressed in purple had appeared at the top of the staircase. She had black hair tied in a ponytail and startling violet eyes. Iocus remained in the same position, only his head moving to track her as she descended past them. Noticing his attention, she gave him an impish grin and waved jauntily, then turned away from them as if uncaring of their presence. Iocus watched her until she had walked out of the library. They ascended the remainder of the staircase in silence. He struts like a bird when he’s angry, 8 thought with amusement. He glanced at book lying on a desk near the top of the staircase. Hm, that looks interesting. “That person should be dead,” Iocus muttered. His lips were drawn in a thin line. He looked more angry than 8 had ever seen him, even following their attempts to murder each other. “Kill them, then.” He snagged a book from a shelf as they passed. “If it’s got you this bothered.” Iocus stopped again. It was hard to tell with the mask on, but 8 got the curious sensation that the time mage was glaring at him. “How crude. You can’t just go around killing people.” 8 stared back. “I thought you had a sense of irony.” “That’s different.” “How?” “I’ve explained this already. There are determined situations where I must ensure that the correct outcome occ-” He seemed to register 8’s appearance properly for the first time since stepping into the library. “Why are you carrying half a dozen books?!” “Seven, actually.” “Is that a cookbook?” “I told you,” 8 said evenly, “I like books. I also like cooking.” He actually threw his hands up in the air. “Let’s just go up.” “The pamphlet said not to go past the third floor.” “We can get away with breaking one rule. That one’s more like a suggestion. Anyway, since when did you care about rules?” In reply, 8 opened one of his books and began reading it as he followed Iocus up the next staircase. The fourth floor looked no different to him than the other three had, despite the pamphlet’s ominous words. Another broad set of stairs led even further up. Ah, he realised. Only three storeys outside. “You’ll want to put those books down soon,” Iocus murmured. There was quiet tension in his voice. “Why?” “Because,” he explained tightly, “we’re going to steal a book.” “Another ‘suggestion’ rather than a rule?” “O no. This one is definitely a rule.” Iocus gave him a smile with a hint of mania. “I always love this moment the most. One needs a bit of nerves before the show to perform best. No matter how much one rehearses, only onstage will one truly know if it will all come together.” “What happens when we break a rule?” “I’m going to guess bad things. That,” he said, and the taunting edge of mania crept further into his voice, “is why you’re here.” 8 put most of his collected pile of books on a trolley to one side, leaving him with only the magical treatise, as Iocus began to stalk the bookshelves. The titles here were in strange alphabets, which shifted as 8 watched to arrange themselves into letters that he could recognise, though the titles made little sense to him. ‘''The Endless Sorrows of Nolstuvainia and Taurisvaan''’ read one. ‘''The Difference Between Distance and Separation''’ read another. ‘''Distortion and Aethersphere''’ a third. Each word was tantalising in its mystery. “I don’t think we should steal the book,” he began. “We have to.” Iocus was at another shelf. He didn’t linger, but scanned each title rapidly, evidently seeking only one volume. “Why can’t we just stay here and read it?” “This isn’t a leisure visit.” ‘''Stay the Hand of Fate''’ read the title under his fingertips. The next volume on the shelf blurred, becoming ‘''Hands of Light, Balance and Dark''’. He froze. “Iocus. I need to stay here.” “We can come back after.” “Are they going to let us back in after we steal a book?!” “Not so loud!” Iocus hushed him. He looked genuinely worried for a moment. “These books are about other worlds, aren’t they?” “Other worlds, other dimensions, other times, possibilities. Anything you might imagine.” Iocus was at end of the row. He sighed and started on the next row, vanishing from 8’s viewpoint. “I hope it’s not on the next floor.” Such a wealth of possibility. The next books had nothing to do with concepts he recognised: ‘''End of Shades''’, ‘''The Shelter of Obscurity''’, ‘''Impurities in the War of Judgement''’. But if he had found two, he could find more. If there was a book about him, or about a cure, then it would exist here of all places. It must. “Iocus-” “We’re here for our mission. That’s all the timeline will allow us to do.” “That’s all you will let us do. Just give me a few hours, damn-” He froze as he heard the approach of footsteps with an oddly familiar rough voice. “-if we send the robot with the girl’s consciousness uploaded, we could probably penetrate the tornado and-” “The girl’s name is Sokutei, Doctor. And no, we’re not going to do that.” A curiously childish female voice. There was a characteristic harrumph. “Why not? You end up in an isolated land with a wealth of potential research, and all you do is set up an ethics board.” He dashed over to where Iocus was. “Who did you say had set up here?” he whispered frantically. “I don’t know the new group.” “You know goddamn everything.” Iocus ignored him, continuing to scan the bookshelves. The voices drew closer. “I’m going to talk to them.” “Ah!” Iocus cried. “Here it is.” He placed a gloved finger on a small volume, bound in black and white. The other hand he tipped at 8. The jester grinned maniacally. “Let’s go.” The volume slipped out easily. For a moment, nothing happened but what must be Doctor Duncan Duncen, his old colleague, making another complaint about ethics. Then alarms screamed through the air, as all the windows turned to flickering red. A strident female voice gave out a battlecry that echoed through every level. “THE KING’S WILL!” it bellowed. “THE KING’S WILL IS BROKEN!” It came from behind them. The two mages met each other’s eyes. One word went through both of their minds. Both of them took off, careening down the stairs three at a time. There was an immense crash, and 8 couldn’t help but look behind him. A woman dressed in chainmail, greaves and gauntlets, wielding a waraxe in both hands, was running straight towards them. She stood taller than the bookshelves, pushing them carelessly apart as she charged forward. Her eyes glowed blue-white, like shards of ice, and pale mists were wrapped around the head of her axe. “I’m going to use fire!” 8 hissed at Iocus. They reached the bottom of the second staircase just as the apparition appeared at the top. “Are you crazy? The rules said-” “It’s a bit late to care about the rules!” “Use something else!” They dodged around a desk. Moments later, the warrior snapped it in half with her axe, barely pausing in her charge. 8 conjured lightning as he ran, drawing into a ball in his hand. It was easier now, a part of him realised dimly. Most of him was concerned with the burning in his lungs and legs. He lobbed the bolt towards the giant, following it with a volley of ice and earth shards for good measure. The warrior ran straight through them. “Bad,” he managed to wheeze. Iocus touched his mask with one hand and summoned tendrils of his magic right beneath them. A portal flickered into existence just as their feet left the circle, spawning a field of spiked clockwork gears and chains. Again, the warrior ran through it without a pause. They were at the top of the staircase above the lobby. A dozen people, far more than he ever expected could be in one place in Sundry, were fleeing the area. His breath caught slightly as he spotted Doctor Duncen, and what looked like a child in white, heavily burdened with stacks of files, almost at the door. Iocus gave a shout and pushed him as they made the halfway point of the stairs. He felt the rush of air as the axe swung above him, and they were falling forward together, the floor lurching towards them. Another swing, Iocus hitting the ground, rolling down the last few steps, his own arms pinwheeling as he turned fall into forward momentum, leaping down to the lobby floor and pivoting on one foot. Pain flared in his ankle as he swung around; he gritted his teeth and ignored it, concentrating on what was left of his pool of magic. “Fire it is.” Flames erupted from him, far more than he meant to conjure – far more than he ever had, even in his own world. The fire swept out from him in a wave, devouring the staircase in its path. The deep red of the carpets bled into an inferno, the furnishings flared brightly and became ash, figures stopped running and were incandescent. The flames embraced the warrior, who halted and screamed, and it was as if the entire library screamed with her. The air itself was burning. It seared his lungs, made what was beneath his bandages bubble – he, whose magic it was. 8 grabbed the other mage, and together they stumbled out of the conflagration. Iocus dropped to the ground as soon as they made it out. Despite the rage of the inferno, not a flicker of flame or tendril of smoke made it past the doorway. 8 sat down beside the time mage, as he coughed and wheezed helplessly. Gradually, his wheezes began to change in pitch and frequency, occurring in spasms. Iocus’s body shuddered with them. 8 wondered if the other mage was going to die – then he realised that Iocus was laughing. Still lying on his back, the jester held up the book to the sky. “Got it,” he rasped. “What a beautiful performance. It couldn’t have been closer.” “A performance. That was a performance to you.” To his surprise, though his throat felt like sawdust, his voice sounded the same as it always did. “O, you have no sense of fun whatsoever.” “''Fun?” In the background, beyond the crackling of flames, he could hear the old Doctor’s voice screaming at the building, ranting on about lost data and valuable research and idiot vandals who couldn’t follow rules. 8 turned to watch them; the Doctor was shaking his fist at the crumbling library, whilst his diminutive companion glumly began stacking files together. He turned away from the scene. ''So much for a reunion. Iocus was still lying on the ground, cradling the book almost tenderly. His grin grew even wider as 8 informed him flatly, “That was the worst thing I’ve ever done.” |}